Some time had passed, and Flaire got used to her job at the hospital. She could navigate the halls with ease, her empathetic nature shining through in every interaction. She was quickly becoming known as the go-to person for patients in need of comfort and support.
The oppressive summer sun beat down, turning the air thick and heavy as Flaire approached Fujiya Hospital. Just a month remained until the school semester devoured her free time, so the familiar scent of disinfectant and starched linens held a bittersweet comfort. With a determined push, she entered the bustling lobby.
Warmth washed over her in more ways than one. Staff and patients she'd befriended in the past two months greeted her with genuine smiles. One nurse, Mone, with eyes the color of polished mahogany, did a double take. "Good morning, Flaire! I wasn't expecting you so early." Her voice held a lilt of surprise.
Flaire turned, a hint of amusement dancing in her own cerulean depths. "Hello, Mone. Apparently, I've been roped into a nine-to-five today." Her voice held a playful lilt.
Mone's smile widened. "Ah, covering for Haru, are we? He usually claims that shift. But hey, the brighter side? You get to work with yours truly!" She winked conspiratorially.
Flaire couldn't help but grin back. "Sounds like a win-win to me."
"Alright, so buckle up," Mone began, her voice dropping to a more informative pitch. "From nine to five, today will be a bit different from your usual routine. We've got a whole new batch of patients checking in." As they walked towards the staff clock-in station, Mone launched into a detailed rundown of the morning schedule, her voice a steady stream of instructions.
Reaching the clock, Mone handed Flaire a clipboard, its worn surface testament to countless patient check-ins. Flaire accepted it, the familiar weight grounding her. Today might be a change of pace, but with Mone by her side, she was ready to face it head-on.
...
Mone dragged a hand through her sleep-tousled hair, lines of fatigue etched around her eyes. Flaire watched her colleague with concern as they ascended to the third floor in the groaning elevator. The metallic clang of the opening doors echoed through the sterile hallway.
Stepping out onto the third floor, the air hung heavy with the antiseptic tang of disinfectant. Mone led the way, her movements purposeful, her ponytail bouncing with each purposeful stride. They reached a utilitarian storage room, and Mone rummaged through the shelves.
"Thank you." Flaire's eyebrows shot up in a question mark as Mone extended a box towards her. "Don't worry," Mone said, a hint of amusement crinkling the corners of her eyes. "I see the gears turning in that head of yours."
"See," Mone continued, "between seven and eight, while the patients are chowing down in the cafeteria, the early shift swoops in to clean. Beds get straightened, surfaces get sanitized, the whole nine yards."
Flaire interjected, a note of confusion lacing her voice. "But wait, Mone, with all due respect, wouldn't it make sense to start on the lower floors first? And besides, if the rooms are already cleaned, why the double-check?"
Mone held up a finger, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Ah, Flaire, that's where the patients get creative. You wouldn't believe the things they manage to stash away—sharps, lighters, even chopsticks! It's like a scavenger hunt gone wrong. So, we gotta be thorough."
She glanced at her watch, the digital display flashing at 9:35 a.m. "These upper floors," Mone continued, her gaze sweeping over the deserted hallway, "tend to be the jackpot when it comes to hidden treasures. That's why we're starting here—a clean slate."
Flaire nodded, a slow understanding dawning on her face. "Divide and conquer, then?" she said, a spark of determination igniting in her eyes.
Mone grinned. "Exactly. The east wing's yours, and the west wing's mine. Ten rooms each on this floor. Let's meet back here in an hour and a half, sharp."
With a final, purposeful nod, Mone shouldered her half of the box and disappeared down the hallway, leaving Flaire standing amidst the sterile silence. As a matter of fact, she felt that it was weird that no one was at the front desk when she stepped out onto the floor.
...
Flaire hoisted the box in her hand, its weight a dull ache against her palm. With a determined set to her jaw, she marched towards the first door on her side of the hallway. Room 311, the stark numbers mocked her from above the worn wooden frame. It seemed a clear division had been drawn: Mone claimed 301 to 310, leaving Flaire with 311 to 320.
Hesitantly, Flaire rapped her knuckles against the closed door. Even though the silence on the other side suggested vacancy, a sliver of unease snaked through her. "Hello?" her voice called out, a touch too loud in the sterile quiet. She eased the door open, a sliver at first, then wider as the emptiness of the room greeted her.
The hospital room held the familiar, sterile air of countless others. A wave of disappointment washed over her. Flaire set the box down on the scarred desk, its surface etched with countless unspoken stories. She reached for the single drawer, her fingers brushing the cool metal. With a hopeful tug, she pulled it open.
Disappointment flickered across her face; the drawer was bare. As she attempted to shut it with a practiced flick of the wrist, the drawer snagged. It wouldn't budge. A frown creased her brow. Giving it a firmer tug, she managed to pull the entire drawer free. Examining the bottom, she found no visible obstructions and no hidden compartments.
Intrigued, Flaire carefully slid the drawer back in, her movements deliberate. Just as it neared its final resting place, a soft click stopped its progress. A glint of metal caught her eye. With a newfound curiosity, her fingers explored the sides of the drawer until they brushed against something cool and smooth. Pulling it out, she was met with the unexpected sight of a pair of chopsticks, their smooth surface a stark contrast to the utilitarian surroundings. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she deposited them in the box.
Methodically, Flaire continued her search of the room, her movements efficient yet gentle. She checked every nook and cranny, her keen eyes missing nothing. A flicker of surprise crossed her face when the only discovery remained the curious pair of chopsticks.
With a sigh that carried a hint of amusement, Flame exited the room, pulling the door shut softly behind her. Room 312 awaited. She lifted her hand to knock, but the ajar door stopped her short. Empty. She peeked inside, the silence holding no surprises this time.
She walked in and placed the box down once again, her eyes searching the layout of the room. Nothing seemed to be in place until she noticed one of the desks in the corner of the room.
It probably just moved during the early morning cleaning, but she wanted to double-check. She nudged the desk slightly. There was no immediate difference. Then she spotted a crack in a floor tile.
Stepping on it, she pushed down. The tile popped loose, revealing a secret spot. A bottle and a container, resembling a whisk, lay nestled inside.
Picking up the bottle, Flaire swirled the liquid within. "This probably isn't smart," she muttered, cautiously opening it. A harsh scent slammed into her nostrils. "Definitely alcohol," she confirmed, closing it tight and placing it in the box.
"Clearly, the patient either had a drinking problem or enjoyed defying the alcohol ban.," she said while continuing her search.
Ten minutes later, Room 312 had yielded more contraband than any other: lighter, loose metal pieces by the window. The list went on. Grabbing the box, she moved on.
Luckily, Rooms 313 and 314 were uneventful. Closing the door behind her in 314, Flaire glanced at the clock: 10:15 am. "If the rest are like this," she thought, "I should finish before eleven."
Room 315. As she saw the number, a flash of memory sparked. The unfinished file. "This is Rei Todoroki's room. The name felt familiar, but why can't I point out where else I've seen the surname? Maybe, it's just a common last name, she thought.
Lost in thought, she reached for the doorknob. It swung open before she could touch it.